


Private Show

by GrayceAdamsArchive



Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BAD MOTORCYCLE DRIVING HABITS, DONT BE LIKE THESE GUYS THEYRE TERRIBLE, Frottage, M/M, Rimming, Strip Tease, Stripper AU, dont hire strippers for parties unless youve been asked to kids, sex on the first date, stripper!miggs au, this is self indulgent silliness im sorry, unintentional first dates???, weird first dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 00:37:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10865421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayceAdamsArchive/pseuds/GrayceAdamsArchive
Summary: Peter hires a stripper for his friend's bachelorette party, but it goes a little awry in the best of ways.





	Private Show

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome to 12k of ridiculousness 
> 
> it's basically just au where miggs never stopped being a stripper and thus never became a villain bc the explosion didn't hurt him and put him in debt :U also its not mentioned if peters an agent or not let ur imaginations run wild i just wanted to write stripper au lmao

“You hired a  _ what! _ ”

Peter winced at the sharp note in Myra’s voice and he gave her an awkward smile as he signed again,  _ A stripper? _

“You weren’t even originally planning my party, Peter why would you bring a stripper!” Myra shouted, throwing up her hands. Peter shrugged, glancing over her shoulder towards the cluster of guests awkwardly pretending not to listen to the bachelorette tear him a new one.

_ To be fair, I didn’t bring him. He’s supposed to show up on his own in— _ Peter broke off as Myra’s eyes flashed with a new surge of anger.

“He?” she repeated, the word a low growl. “He! Peter! I’m fucking  _ gay! _ Why would you hire a  _ male  _ stripper!”

_ He came highly recommended?  _ Peter tried, and Myra lifted one hand to point a furious finger in his face.

“You—” She was cut short by the sound of the doorbell, and everyone’s attention swiveled to the front door.

Peter gave another awkward smile, slowly backing away from the nearly-frothing Myra to pop the door open.

A man in a long gray coat was standing on the doorstep, curls windswept and framing a slightly-bored expression, collar popped up around his jaw. Peter couldn’t help but stare for a brief moment, trying not to let his draw drop to the floor or anything. Strippers were supposed to be attractive, he knew that, was well aware of it, but this man…

Well. He was  _ cute. _

He had a bit of a button nose, large eyes and an oval face, dark skin brushed with freckles along his cheekbones and nose, and despite the vaguely-disinterested expression, he had a sharp edge in his eyes that had Peter kicking himself over stereotyping a man he’d never even met as just another vapid pole dancer.

“This is the right place, isn’t it?” the man said after a long stretch of silence. “Bernard party?” Peter nodded dumbly, and the man lifted an eyebrow minutely, as if briefly concerned for his mental health. “Are you going to let me  _ in  _ then? It’s like twenty fucking degrees out here and I’m not in much under this.” Peter swallowed hard as the man gestured at his coat, and he quickly stepped back so the man could come inside.

“Peter!” Peter looked up at Myra’s angry whisper, and he peered over the stripper’s head in order to see her. (He briefly glanced down to check the man’s feet; nope, not wearing heels, and still almost as tall as Peter.)

_ What?  _ Peter asked, giving a sheepish grin as Myra glared at him and then shot a brief look at the man standing a little awkwardly in front of him.

_ Get rid of him!  _ She signed back, scowling.

“Uh, everything okay?” the stripper glanced between Peter and Myra, quickly picking up on the tension between them and the pointedly not-looking attitude of the rest of the people in the house.

“No, look, I’m sorry, my friend misunderstood,” Myra said after a second when Peter failed to do anything. “My sister was supposed to plan my party, did for the most part, actually, but she got sick the other day and  _ Peter,”  _ she gestured sharply at Peter, who waved awkwardly when the stripper turned to look at him, “took over for her. He  _ wasn’t  _ supposed to hire a stripper. No offense.”

“Sure,” the man said, a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

“I’m gay,” Myra added, as an explanation.

“So am I,” the man said, waving a hand.

“Peter!” Myra snapped, and Peter jumped, spreading his hands and trying not to let any guilt show on his face. “You hired a gay male stripper for my  _ lesbian bachelorette party? _ ”

_ I didn’t know he was gay!  _ Peter protested, but Myra was having none of it, stalking forward to snatch Peter’s jacket off the hook by the door and push it at the stripper, who blinked at it in confusion as she started herding them both towards the door.

“Nope, fuck you very much, Peter, you’ve lost all rights to attend this party, if you wanted a damn stripper you could have just gone to a damn club on your night off or something, and I swear to God if you send me an apology e-card with a pun on it, I  _ will  _ strangle you the instant I see you tomorrow,” Myra shoved at them both until she got them outside and then slammed the door behind them.

Peter stood blinking at the front door for a moment before grimacing and rubbing at the back of his neck, admitting, at least to himself, that it’d been a little foolish to hire a stripper for his friend’s party. He should have had the foresight to realize Myra and her friends would have preferred a woman, but the man  _ had  _ come very highly recommended by the man running the club Peter had gone to. He’d thought she might have found it funny.

Well, he already knew he had shitty humor compared to most people.

“I’m still charging you for the four hours you booked me, you know,” the stripper said after a beat, pushing Peter’s coat at him. “Regardless of whether I actually do any dancing or not.” Peter blew out a breath and nodded, and the man glanced up at him, pursing his lips. “You don’t talk, do you?” Peter shook his head, bracing himself for the following  _ why not?  _ But the stripper just shrugged and turned on his heel, starting down Myra’s front walk and pulling out his cell phone.

Peter stared after him, curiosity piqued. He quickly shrugged his leather jacket on, jogging to catch up with the stripper before he hit the pavement.

The man looked up from where he was punching in a number, and Peter gestured at the phone, tilting his head to one side to make it a question.

“I’m calling a taxi,” he explained, surprising Peter by picking up his question with so little to go on. “Unless you’re wanting me to stick around for a private party or something. Those cost more, though.” Peter paused when they reached the curb, the man’s thumb hovering over the  _ call  _ button as he waited for Peter’s answer.

Peter hesitantly reached out and pushed the hand holding his phone down by the man's side, mouth tilting into a small smile. The stripper paused, and then shoved his phone away, nodding briskly.

“Okay,” he said, glancing around. “You can take me back to Orchid, they’ve got private rooms there.” Peter smirked and nodded, pulling his keys out of his pocket and pausing before tugging out his own phone and bringing up the notepad app to write a quick message.

**_Name?_** His screen read when he turned it back to face the man, who read it quickly.

“Oh, Jamie,” he replied without missing a beat, tucking both hands into his pockets and making the top of the coat part slightly. There was something black and tight around his throat, and Peter immediately wanted to peel the coat off him to see what it was, but instead just gestured for Jamie to follow him.

Peter’s bike was parked between a couple of Myra’s friends’ cars, and he popped open the compartment under the seat to dig out his helmet and the spare he kept there just in case.

“Oh, you’re kidding me,” Jamie said, and Peter looked up to see him staring at the bike from the curb. “That’s a death trap waiting to happen, oh my God.” Peter shrugged, settling his helmet over his head and flipping up the visor so Jamie could still see his face. He offered the man the other helmet and he took it, but made no move to put it on. Peter huffed a laugh and pulled out his phone again, deleting the previous note to type a new one.

**_Trust me?_ **

Jamie hesitated, glancing from the note to Peter’s face, biting his lip. Peter tried not to stare at the man’s front teeth, which had a frankly adorable gap in them.

“Okay,” he said after a second, settling the helmet on over his riotous curls. “But if you get me killed, I’ll never forgive you.” Peter huffed in amusement and quickly added,  **_I’ll take good care of you._ ** Jamie flushed when he read it, and Peter observed the darkening of the man’s cheeks with slight fascination before climbing onto his bike and patting the back of it. Jamie reached down to unfasten a couple buttons in the lower half of his coat, and Peter got a tantalizing glimpse of long, bare legs as Jamie parted the coat to climb on behind him. He sat a little back from Peter, hands on his hips, and Peter wondered if he should let the man slide off the back or not. It seemed cruel, and there was the danger of Jamie’s long coat getting caught in the tire, so Peter reached down to tug Jamie’s hands forward until they were locked together over Peter’s stomach. He patted Jamie’s fingers, trying not to stroke or caress them in what would probably be considered a creepy way since they didn’t really know each other, and then started up the bike.

Jamie jumped as it roared to life initially before settling into a rumble, squeezing at Peter’s waist as he leaned forward to half-shout, “It’s really loud!” Peter grinned and nodded, knocking up the kickstand with one heel before walking the bike forward a couple steps and then pushing the gas so it started forward. The bike snarled and jumped into motion, making Jamie yelp and clutch at him tighter, plastered against Peter’s back until he could feel every button of the man’s coat digging into his spine. Peter smirked and sped down the street, settling into a more reasonable speed as he approached roads that actually had cars on them.

Jamie relaxed slowly as Peter drove, apparently assured he wasn’t going to kill them both with reckless driving, and Peter glanced over his shoulder to grin as he pulled onto the freeway.

“Oh, no,” Jamie groaned as they picked up speed, clinging to Peter and ducking down to hide against his back. “This was a bad idea, I should have just gotten a cab.” The words were barely audible over the whistle of the wind, but Peter managed to catch them anyway, smirking as he pushed the bike up to the speed limit.

It was cold, but Peter didn’t mind so much, and Jamie was mostly hidden behind his bulk, so he doubted the man was much colder than he was. The freeway wasn’t as busy as it could have been, and Peter felt Jamie slowly relax again as he got used to the speed.

“Okay, this isn’t too bad,” Jamie said when he propped his chin on Peter’s shoulder, squinting against the wind whipping into his face. “Though do you ever get hit by like, bugs and shit? And what do you do when it rains?” Peter nodded and then shrugged, gesturing slightly with an elbow at a bus rumbling along in the slow lane. “Seriously? Public transport? Why don’t you just get a real car?” Peter growled, the Jamie’s grip on him tightening as he felt the vibration through Peter’s back, even with the rumble of the motorcycle under them. Jamie yelped as Peter pushed the bike about ten over, jumping lanes to dodge around other cars and trucks. Peter grinned, the tilt of it a bit wicked as Jamie wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist almost hard enough to hurt, breaths coming in slightly-panicked spurts. Peter glanced over his shoulder, slowing down and starting to feel a bit bad for tormenting a man he didn’t really know.

Jamie looked a little frightened, but also excited, the sort of look a person has while riding a roller coaster for the first time and enjoying the adrenaline rush. Peter blinked and then grinned, continuing to weave his way through traffic, being sure to keep an eye out for any police cars. Would be a bit awkward to get pulled over for speeding with a stripper on the back of his bike, and he couldn’t really afford a ticket, he’d splurged hiring Jamie for Myra’s party as it was.

Peter pulled off the freeway and slowed down considerably as he joined the traffic in downtown, taking a couple turns before pulling in to a small Vietnamese  restaurant’s parking lot.

“What are we doing here?” Jamie asked, frowning at him as Peter pulled into a parking spot and shut down the bike. Peter pulled out his phone and typed another note, holding it up over his shoulder for Jamie to read.

**_Have four hours, and I’m hungry, Myra kicked us out before I could eat any of the food I made for her party._ **

“Oh my God,” Jamie muttered, slipping off the back of the bike. Peter tried not to stare as the coat flashed brief glimpses of Jamie’s legs, kicking the stand down again and climbing off. He pulled off his helmet and stowed it, turning to point at Jamie’s helmet.

“Oh, right,” the man said, snatching it off and revealing that his wild curls had been pressed down against his skull in a rather hilarious case of helmet hair. Peter quickly swallowed down the bubble of laughter in his throat, trying not to think too hard about how adorable the man looked with his hair smashed flat like that.

Peter took the helmet from him and tossed it in the compartment with his own before shutting it again, turning back to Jamie and trying not to stare.

“What?” the man asked irritably, cheeks darkening more and more the longer Peter looked at him. Peter hesitated and reached out, and Jamie immediately ducked away, scowling and his hands coming up defensively. “What are you doing?” Peter paused and then reached up to touch his own hair, pressing it down against his head and then gesturing at Jamie’s flattened curls. The man froze, and then reached up to touch his hair.

“Oh fuck,” he blurted, quickly reaching up to tousle his hair out of its flattened state. Peter grinned at the sight, the man’s curls looking less like he’d just spent five hours teasing them into casually-fuckable ringlets and more like he’d rolled out of bed ten minutes ago and managed to fluff out the side he’d been sleeping on.

Jamie’s face dared Peter to say anything else about his hair, so Peter just signed,  _ you’re cute,  _ and then gestured for the man to follow him inside.

“What does that mean?” Jamie demanded, following and scowling when Peter just shot him a grin. “Peter!” Peter paused, thrown slightly by the sound of his name in the man’s voice. It lilted slightly, like the man had an accent he usually kept under wraps but sometimes slipped out.

Peter was surprised by how much he liked it, so he just gave Jamie another grin and held the door open for him.

The restaurant was warm and small, paper lamps hanging from the ceiling giving everything a golden sort of glow. A tiny bell rang above them as the door swung shut again after they stepped inside, and Peter took a deep breath, smiling. It’d been a few months since he’d come here to eat, since it was out of the way of his usual routine, and the familiar smell of food was welcome, since he hadn’t eaten since this morning.

“ _ Gấu trúc _ !” Peter grinned when a tall woman with wide hips appeared from the kitchen doors, a red apron around her waist. “It’s so good to see you! Table for—oh, two! Two, okay.” She blinked at Jamie, who gave her a blank look before leaning over to mutter to Peter.

“People don’t usually take their strippers out to dinner, you know,” he said out of the corner of his mouth as the woman collected menus and silverware.

“This way,” she said cheerily as Peter gave Jamie a tilted smile, hoping the man wasn’t too weirded out. It wasn’t like he was taking him on a date, Peter was hungry, and beyond bar food, which mostly consisted of wings and over-salted fries, there wasn’t much to eat at the Orchid.

_ Thanks, L-bird,  _ Peter signed when they were seated, and Lieu set their menus in front of them, smiling brightly.

“Wave me over when you’re ready, Peter,” she said fondly, patting at his shoulder before heading towards kitchen again, vanishing through the doors before reappearing behind the line, which had an open bar in front of it.

“She’s certainly friendly,” Jamie mumbled, flicking through the menu absently. Peter hummed and glanced over the menu himself, mostly superficially; he already knew what he wanted. There was a brief stretch of silence, and Peter looked up to see Jamie watching him, a flush appearing on his cheeks when he realized he’d been caught.

“What?” he asked, and Peter lifted an eyebrow before tugging out his phone, spinning it around after writing the man a note.

**_You were the one staring._ ** Jamie blushed again, lifting his gaze to glare at Peter, who just winked at him. Jamie’s blush deepened and he lifted his menu to almost hide behind it, and Peter smirked, spinning his phone back around to erase the old notes and add a new one.

**_Know what you want?_** Peter tapped a few fingers against the table in an attempt to get Jamie’s attention, but the man remained stubbornly behind his menu, to Peter reached out and tugged the top of it down. Jamie blinked at the note and then nodded, disappearing behind the menu again. Peter smirked and turned to wave Lieu over again, and she appeared a moment later with a notepad in hand.

“So what can I get you?” she chirped, and Peter waved a hand at her, making her smirk. “Regular, gotcha. And you?” She gave Jamie a polite smile when he peered up at her from behind his menu.

“Uhh, the Ginger Sesame Beef Vermicelli. No pickled carrot,” he muttered after a second, reluctantly letting her tug the menu out of his hand before scooping the one in front of Peter into her arms.

“No problem, it’ll be right out,” she said, whisking back off into the kitchen.

Jamie stared down at the tabletop, fiddling with one of the forks wrapped in a napkin. Peter watched him for a long moment, fingers hesitating above the keypad on his phone.

“Hard to make conversation with a stripper that isn’t about stripping, isn’t it,” Jamie said after a minute, glancing up at him. “I don’t care if you ask. I’m not ashamed of what I do.” Peter blinked, and then shrugged, fingers dancing over the screen of his phone before spinning it around and pushing it towards Jamie so he could read it.

**_What do you do for fun?_ **

Jamie stared for a long minute, and then glanced up, brow furrowed.

“Uh. I…” Jamie paused, then stared down at his lap. “I build things. My…I, um. Engineering. I went to school for it, had an internship lined up, but uh, the company sort of…exploded. Like literally.” Peter frowned, and the man didn’t look up from his lap. “I make pretty damn good money off stripping, so I just…didn’t pursue it as a career after that. It’s sort of just a hobby now.” He glanced up at Peter, who rolled one hand in a gesture to continue. Jamie frowned. “It’s um. Kind of advanced. I don’t think you’d understand.” Peter smirked, pulling his phone closer to type out a couple words.

**_Try me._ **

Jamie lifted an eyebrow and then a small smirk darted over his lips (and Peter was most certainly  _ not  _ seized by the sudden desire to kiss them, no sir) and then propped one elbow on the table, launching into an explanation of how he’d built a device to simulate a thunderstorm in a glass dome the size of his fist. Most of the finer science of it was lost on Peter, but he understood the mechanics behind it, enough that he was able to ask pointed questions about it that had Jamie looking surprised and then pleased, eagerly explaining the finer workings behind the project. Lieu brought their food by while Jamie was talking, but he hardly noticed, hands waving as he explained how the water system was made to be self-sustaining and how the temperature in the dome was maintained by the lightning produced by the storm. Peter listened attentively, working his way through his meal and pointedly gesturing for Jamie to eat some whenever he paused for breath.

“Hey, fellas, closing time,” Lieu sing-songed from the register, waving their bill at them after having cleared away their plates what must have been twenty minutes ago. “Sorry to cut your date short, Petey.” She grinned when Jamie blushed, making to protest, but Peter just waved her away, digging out his wallet to pay for the meal and leaving a tip on the table for her. Jamie nodded at Lieu while Peter paid, and she winked at him, ringing them up and waving as Peter took Jamie back outside.

It was a little cloudy, and Peter hoped it wouldn’t rain as he handed Jamie back his helmet and got back on the motorcycle. Jamie was much more relaxed the second time on the bike, still clinging to Peter’s back as he drove, but no longer clutching at him fearfully, and he only swore once when Peter took a particularly sharp turn.

Jamie was sitting a bit far back on the bike when Peter pulled off the freeway, and Peter reached back to tug the man a little closer, not wanting him to slip off the back on accident if they hit a bump or something. Jamie hesitated, and Peter pulled more insistently when they stopped at a red light, tugging the man flush against him and then abruptly realizing why Jamie hadn’t wanted to be close to him.

With Jamie’s crotch pressed against Peter’s ass, he could clearly feel what was at least half an erection, and Peter bit his lip at the sudden pulse of lust that jumped in his stomach.

“Uh,” Jamie squirmed awkwardly as they sat at the light. “Sorry. I didn’t—” Peter shook his head, patting Jamie’s knee in what he hoped was a comforting way before putting both hands on the handlebars. He was tempted to tilt his hips back towards Jamie, but was unsure how the man would react. He was, after all, only spending time with Peter because he had been paid to, and the last thing Peter wanted was to offend him or make him think Peter was trying to solicit sex from him.

The light turned green and Peter pushed the bike into motion again, trying very hard to ignore Jamie’s cock pressing against him. The man’s body language was tense, awkward, hands gripping at Peter’s shirt so tightly his knuckles were paling, and Peter wished there was a way to let him know it was okay, that lots of people ended up getting aroused from riding a motorcycle, hell, Peter had even had a woman orgasm on the back of his bike once. True, he’d been  _ trying  _ to get her off with it because she’d had a kink and he was willing to indulge her, but still. It wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about.

Peter pulled back onto the freeway and told himself he was only imagining the moan that came from Jamie when he sped up, the bike vibrating underneath them as he moved in with traffic. Peter shifted his hips, trying very hard not to acknowledge the fact that he was also getting hard, and Jamie’s grip on him tightened slightly when he moved. Peter struggled to keep his attention on the road when Jamie’s hips twitched, pushing his full-blown erection against Peter. Peter hesitated briefly before returning the pressure just slightly, testing. Jamie’s grip tightened until Peter was wheezing for breath a bit, and he bit back a groan when Jamie’s hips twitched forward again, grinding against Peter. Peter pulled off the freeway, not wanting to get them killed, and took the long way of back roads, swallowing down groans every time Jamie’s hips dragged against him. He could feel the man’s chest heaving against his back, and when Peter was forced to stop at a red light, he reached back to hesitantly stroke along Jamie’s thigh, covered by the drape of his coat. Jamie jumped and Peter quickly removed his hand, ducking his head and hoping he hadn’t gone too far.

After a long moment Jamie started circling his hips again, the movement hardly enough to notice, but nearly all of Peter’s attention was on where Jamie’s cock was dragging against him through several layers of clothes, and he couldn’t have missed it if he’d wanted to. Peter clutched the bars of his bike until his knuckles ached, and he knew he hadn’t imagined the soft moan that came from Jamie when he arched just slightly to push his ass back against Jamie. The light was still red, but Peter briefly revved the engine, making the bike shudder under them. Jamie gasped and his hips bucked, and Peter lost the fight not to moan, bowing his head as he blatantly pushed his hips back against Jamie.

“Oh, fuck,” Jamie whispered, breath hot against Peter’s neck as he started grinding against him shamelessly, hands gripping at Peter’s shirt over his chest and stomach and his entire body tensing as he pulled himself against Peter repeatedly. “Oh God, oh fuck. I shouldn’t—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be doing—” Peter quickly shook his head as the light turned green, revving the engine and pushing his hips back against Jamie before getting the bike moving again trying to encourage him. Peter’s breath was coming in harsh pants and he was almost dizzy with arousal; he knew he should pull over for safety’s sake, but the last thing he wanted was for Jamie to  _ stop. _

Jamie kept thrusting against Peter’s ass and lower back, hands tightening on his shirt with every thrust. Peter groaned and tried to focus on driving, but at least half his mind was on the man rutting desperately against him, breath hot on Peter’s skin and soft whimpers and moans sounding in his ear. God, what Peter wouldn’t give to hear him without the roar of traffic and wind dulling it, to have him gasping and crying out, calling Peter’s name…

Peter blinked and quickly brought his attention back to the road, nearly missing the turn onto the street that would take them to Orchid. Jamie didn’t seem to notice, his right hand sliding down Peter’s stomach before hesitating near his belt. Peter was nodding before he could remember what a bad idea that would be, and then Jamie’s hand was rubbing over his crotch, feeling the bulge of his erection and squeezing eagerly at it. Peter gasped, and thanked every god he wasn’t sure existed as he managed to pull them into the lot for Orchid without crashing. Panting, Peter yanked the bike into the nearest spot and planted both feet firmly on the ground, trying not to shake as Jamie’s hand tightened on his cock through his pants.

“Oh,” Jamie huffed after a second, freezing as he seemed to realize where they were. “Oh, God. Oh, fuck, I’m sorry—” He quickly sprang off the back of the bike, yanking the helmet off his head and holding it in front of himself. He was blushing furiously, and Peter stared at him, heart pounding in his chest. He fumbled for his phone, typing out a message so fast he misspelled several of the words and pushing it at Jamie.

**_Ddnit mind, didnt mind at all dont b srry._ **

Jamie stared and then blushed more, scowling down at the helmet in his hands.

“It’s not—I mean, I—” he stammered before stopping, taking a deep breath. “Just because you paid for me doesn’t mean you get to fuck me,” he rushed, the words coming out like he’d said them a million times, but with a harsh edge, like he bitterly wished he wasn’t having to say them now. Peter wilted, staring down at his phone before deleting the note and typing out a new one, much more slowly.

**_You don’t owe me sex, at all. I didn’t expect_** Peter paused in typing, deleting the last bit. **_You don’t owe me sex, at all. If you’re uncomfortable, the night ends here and I’ll still pay for the full four hours. I’d still like to see you dance, though._** Peter hesitantly held out the phone, and Jamie peered at it before looking at Peter, chewing his lip nervously. He had helmet hair again, and Peter struggled not to get distracted by how the man looked right now. It should have been off-putting, hair mashed by the helmet, expression wary, a gap pushing his front two teeth apart. But instead all Peter could think was that he looked fucking adorable, and that he’d like to kiss the uncertain look right off his face.

“…okay.” Jamie said after a long moment, looking away. “Okay, we can…we can go inside, and I’ll do a routine for you until you’re out of time. But that’s it.” Peter nodded, relieved, and wondered when he’d stopped looking for a fun night with a stripper to wanting to actually spend time with a man who knew about engineering and didn’t like pickled carrot and also just happened to take his clothes off for a living.

Peter took the helmet from Jamie, unable to stop his gaze from raking down the man’s body, faintly disappointed when the long coat hid any sign of whether Jamie was still hard or not. Peter stowed their helmets and gestured at his own hair again before pointing at Jamie, who grimaced.

“How bad is it?” he asked, reaching up to touch his hair. “Candy’s gonna laugh her ass off at me.” Peter huffed and hesitantly reached out. When Jamie didn’t duck away or otherwise try to stop him, Peter carefully pushed his fingers through the crushed curls. A soft sound escaped each of them as Peter ran his hand through Jamie’s hair, and Peter marveled slightly at the soft texture. There were a couple tangles, and he tugged through them as gently as he could as he tried to finger-comb Jamie’s hair into something that didn’t look like he’d gelled it down against his skull. It didn’t feel like the man had used much product in it, if any, and he wondered if it was always this soft, if it would look good dark with sweat and sticking to his skin, if it would curl more or go limp, if Jamie liked to have it pulled on—

“Ooh,” Jamie groaned and Peter froze, realizing he’d tangled his fingers in the hair on the back of Jamie’s head, tightening his hand into a fist, pulling, but not too hard. Jamie’s mouth had fallen slack, eyes hooded as his breath came in pants, hands fisted in the front of his trench coat. Peter swallowed a growl at the sight, so very tempted to push the man against the bike and kiss him, fuck the money, fuck the dancing, he wanted to fuck  _ Jamie. _

Peter cleared his throat and quickly pulled his fingers free, shoving his hands into his pockets so he’d keep them to himself. Goddamn libido seemed to be going haywire, lust driving him near-incoherent at the mere feel of Jamie in any way.

“Uh, um, sorry, I’ve—” Jamie stared down at his feet, looking a little horrified. “I—” he halted again swallowing loudly before mumbling, “I like my hair played with, it’s no big deal, anyway, let’s just go inside, I’m fucking freezing.” Peter nodded and Jamie started hurrying for the building. Peter followed him, jumping in surprise when Jamie grabbed onto his sleeve to tug his hand free of his pocket and link their fingers together as they approached the bouncer.

“Hey, Jake,” Jamie said, waving and tugging Peter through the door as the bouncer glanced over them and nodded, a smirk twisting over his face at the sight of their joined hands. Peter shot Jamie a quizzical look as they entered the dark of the club, but Jamie just shook his head and kept tugging Peter along.

“Welcome to the Wild Orchid,” a woman behind the welcome desk said the greeting, automatic and rehearsed. She blinked as she registered Jamie, an odd look flicking over her face as she turned to look at Peter. “How can I help you, sir?”

“He’s all taken care of, Michelle, paid and everything,” Jamie grumbled, and Michelle frowned at him.

“Are you—conducting…. _ business _ outside the club?” she asked suspiciously and Jamie scowled.

“No, I was supposed to do a party, but the woman threw us both out since apparently,” he shot a pointed look at Peter, “I was a surprise. And not her type. So he’s switching from party to private.”

“It’s a higher charge,” Michelle said, glancing between them. “Are you sure—?”

Peter quickly nodded, giving her a charming smile that had her blushing. She wasn’t the person Peter had talked to about hiring a stripper for Myra’s party in the first place, and he had a feeling that Michelle wouldn’t have recommended him Jamie if she’d been there when Peter had come looking. He found himself strangely thankful she hadn’t been.

“Come on,” Jamie muttered, half-dragging Peter past the welcome desk and through a pair of doors.

The club was doing brisk business for a Saturday, the bar full of patrons and most of the tables full. The stage was occupied by two dancers doing a matching routine in mirror of each other, both women, and both of them down to little more than a bright bikini-like outfit with reflective stars dotting the fabric.

“This way,” Jamie said, yanking on Peter’s arm until his attention changed from the stage to him. The man looked a little irritated, and Peter wondered if he was still ruffled from his encounter with Michelle. Peter let Jamie guide him along the edge of the room to a doorway in the back guarded by another bouncer and covered by a black curtain. Peter paused when he recognized the man who’d recommended him Jamie when he’d come in the other day.

“Hey, Curly,” the man said and Jamie grunted at him, pausing and not letting go of Peter’s hand.

“Matty, your booking  _ sucks _ ,” Jamie said in lieu of a greeting. “The party girl kicked me out, along with the guy who hired me.”

“Too bad for her,” Matty said, glancing at Peter and looking amused.

“She’s a  _ lesbian, _ ” Jamie groaned. “Seriously, what were you thinking?” He turned to Peter, and he shrugged, gesturing at Matty.

“I did recommend you,” Matt conceded.

“You didn’t specify she was into women?” Jamie asked, glaring at Peter. Peter shrugged, and Jamie groaned.

“You switching to private show, then?” Matty asked, sounding amused. Peter nodded, and Matty grinned, reaching over to tug the curtain aside. “Room nine’s open, Curly. Have fuuuun.” He drew the last word out, giving them a playful wink as Jamie tugged Peter past him, scowling.

“Ignore him,” he muttered. “He’s an asshole.” Peter smirked, and patted Jamie’s hand in his with his free one, catching the faint flush on the man’s cheeks as he took Peter to the room with a brass 9 on the door.

The inside was a rounded room, a long couch along one wall with a minibar next to it, a small stage with a single pole on it on the other wall, a speaker system playing a muted version of the music pulsing in the main floor of the club.

“Sit wherever, help yourself to the bar, it’s included in the charge,” Jamie said, the words coming out rehearsed again as he went to a small radio system next to the stage to start fiddling with it. “You’ve got about two hours left before the charge is up, so I’ll be doing a bit of everything to fill up the time, if that’s okay.” Peter nodded and perched on the edge of the couch, trying not to stare too hard at Jamie’s back. Now that he knew the coat was coming off soon, he was nearly desperate to know what was under it, mentally going over the brief flashes of the man’s body he’d caught throughout the night.

“Lap or pole,” Jamie asked, sounding distracted as he played with the system until the club’s main room music stopped playing through the speakers. Peter waited for Jamie to look at him and then he shrugged. Jamie scowled. “You’re the customer, you’re supposed to pick. Which do you want.” Peter rubbed at the back of his neck, grimacing. He knew he wanted Jamie in his lap, but after what had happened on the bike, he knew he’d get hard, and was reasonably sure Jamie would, too. And he didn’t want to make the man uncomfortable.

Peter gestured at the stage, and Jamie stared at him for a long minute before turning to the system again, shoulders slumping just barely. Peter wondered, briefly, if it was from disappointment, but then a song was pulsing through the speakers, deep bass and drums throbbing in some sort of remix of a song Peter was only faintly familiar with.

Jamie turned away from the system and kicked off the trainers he was wearing (without socks, Peter noted with a brief flash of distaste) and mounted the steps of the stage. Peter frowned as Jamie failed to remove the coat, simply grabbing the pole and running his hands down it for a moment, face impassive. After a minute, he grabbed on with one hand and started spinning around. Peter watched as he gained speed until his hair was whipping around his head and his coat flared out, exposing his bare legs to above his knees. Jamie’s left arm came up as he spun, fingers darting down his front to undo the buttons rapidly. His coat slipped off his shoulder as he spun and then down his arm, flaring out behind him as he pulled his left arm free of the sleeve and lifted himself up onto the pole, grabbing on with both hands and putting his legs around it, coat falling to the ground as he flicked it off his other wrist.

Peter shifted in his seat as his eyes roamed over Jamie’s body bare of the coat, flushing as he took in the leather circling his throat and torso, leaving his back and stomach bare, a pair of tiny black shorts hugging his hips and ass, rather plain and modest compared to the star-covered bikinis of the dancer on the main stage, but somehow Peter found this much more enticing.

He leaned forward as Jamie spun around the pole, twisting and writhing his body against it to the beat of the music. Peter was entranced for a short time, watching the circle of Jamie’s hips and back, legs spreading and then closing around the pole, muscles straining as he went through his routine. And after a few minutes, Peter found himself watching Jamie’s face, his arousal suddenly dampened by the bored, completely checked-out expression on the man’s face. Peter let him go on for a few minutes, indecision keeping him frozen on the couch, but after Jamie showed no sign of being the man who had been so animated and excited during dinner, he found himself completely uninterested in Jamie’s routine. Even when Jamie paused in the spinning to grind on the pole, one hand reaching behind himself to tug the concealed zipper holding his top on down, Peter just wasn’t interested in watching him look completely disengaged by the whole event.

Jamie blinked when Peter stood up, startled into freezing in his dancing, and he started slowly spinning on the pole as Peter walked closer.

“What?” he asked, seeming confused by the expression on Peter’s face. Peter paused, and then reached up to hold a hand out to Jamie, who frowned at it, and then at him. “What?” he repeated, and Peter blew out a breath, gesturing for Jamie to come off the pole. “Oh.” The man huffed and then dropped off the pole to stand on the edge of the stage. Peter flushed looking up at him, eyes wandering up the long length of his legs to his hips and then his stomach, over his chest and up his neck to his face. He sat down after a second, so he was only head and shoulders over Peter instead of towering over him.

“You, uh…don’t like that?” he asked after a minute, expression guarded as Peter shook his head, pulling out his phone.

**_You’re an amazing dancer. You just look so…bored._ ** Peter grimaced as he handed the phone to Jamie, who read it and frowned.

“People usually say I look…I dunno, sultry,” he shrugged, handing the phone back and frowning. “But yeah, I guess. I mean, I’ve been dancing for a while. The routine does get a little boring, no matter what new stuff you throw in.” Peter frowned as Jamie’s eyes flicked away, and he shook his head.

**_If you don’t want to dance for me, I can go._ **

“No!” Jamie blurted when he read the note, and Peter froze, staring at him. Jamie blushed furiously and ducked his head, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. “I…I  _ do  _ want do dance for you. I mean, I’m…look, I thought…uh. You picked the pole. It’s…it’s less…personal.” His voice trailed off into a mumble until Peter had to strain to catch the last bit, and he blinked in surprise.

**_Thought you didn’t want personal._ **

“I…” Jamie hesitated and then blurted, “I don’t fuck on the first date.” Peter stared, flushing and then glancing down at his hands.

**_Date?_ **

It was Jamie’s turn to blush, and he stared down at his hands as he said softly, “I…I dunno. It…it felt like a date. You took me to dinner, asked about my interests, took me on your bike, we—uh.” He blushed and squeezed his knees together, biting his lip. “I mean, I know you  _ paid  _ for that time, but you didn’t…you listen. And were okay with me touching  _ you  _ instead of the other way around and just—” He cut himself off, scowling. “Never mind, that’s stupid, if you want to go I understand—” Peter held up a hand, the thumb of his other hand dancing over the screen of his phone to type a response.

**_I didn’t plan for it to be a date. I don’t really date in general. But that being said, if you’re agreeable, I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better._ **

Jamie flushed as he read it, glancing up and worrying at his lip with gapped teeth that had Peter wanting to kiss him breathless.

“I…I don’t share,” he said quietly, looking down at the phone again. “You don’t date, I don’t do…open relationships. It wouldn’t work. Besides, we hardly know each other.” Peter paused, pulling the phone back and erasing the message to write another.

**_I want to know you. And if you don’t share…then I won’t see anyone else while I’m seeing you._ **

Jamie glanced between the screen and Peter, as if trying to judge if he was being serious. He was, it wouldn’t hurt to try just one more time. There was something about the man that Peter felt they might be able to make it work. And if it didn’t, well, Peter could always end it before Jamie got hurt.

Taking a deep breath, Jamie set the phone aside and nodded. “Okay.” Peter grinned and leaned closer, but Jamie scowled and put out a hand to stop him. “Go sit down.” Frowning, Peter did what he was told after a moment, confusion filling him until Jamie slipped off the stage and started walking towards him, the sway of his hips just slightly predatory.

Peter swallowed dryly as Jamie came to a stop in front of him, eyes hooded and bright with mischief, lips twisting into a smirk, his expression  _ engaged.  _ Peter’s breath caught as Jamie started undulating his body, spine curving and rolling, hips circling and rocking side to side as he started moving to the beat, arms coming up as he pushed his fingers into his hair, turning his head to one side to expose the line of his throat. Peter bit his lip as Jamie spread his legs and bent them slightly, hips moving from side to side as he dragged his hands down from his hair to his neck and chest, sliding his palms over his stomach to his hips, rubbing over his crotch and drawing attention to the soft bulge of his cock there.

Peter moaned softly as Jamie shifted his weight to one foot and then turned around arching and straightening up to his full height, the line of his back broken by just the strap of his top, smooth, dark skin dotted with freckles laid out like a map. Peter wanted desperately to touch, but instead kept his hands fisted on his lap, eyes roaming down the curve of Jamie’s spine to his ass, whimpering slightly when Jamie bent over and then snapped straight again, flicking his hair back out of his face. Peter caught sight of a wicked grin and he growled quietly, watching as Jamie spun around again and then leaned forward, bracing his hands on the back of the couch to either side of Peter’s head. Jamie’s gaze wandered over Peter’s face, licking his lips, eyes dark and hungry.

“God, you’re hot,” Jamie mumbled under his breath, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud, and Peter smirked, nodding at him in an attempt to return the sentiment. Jamie blushed and lifted one leg to plant his knee to the side of Peter’s lap, dragging the other up until he was hovering over Peter, more than close enough to touch. Peter moaned when Jamie started rolling his hips above Peter’s lap, an echo of the desperate grinding he’d done against Peter’s ass on the bike, half an erection showing through the tight black shorts. Peter whimpered and lost the fight not to touch him, palms skimming up Jamie’s naked thighs to cup his hips. Jamie bucked his hips and grinned as Peter instantly let go.

“You’re not supposed to touch the dancers unless we say you can,” Jamie murmured, leaning in closer, close enough for his breath to wash over Peter’s mouth, close enough to kiss if Peter just lifted his head the slightest bit— “Peter.” The lilt was still there, probably something Jamie never even noticed, but for Peter, who’d listened carefully to the way his name was pronounced since he was first able to hear it, it was obvious, and enchanting. He groaned, and Jamie’s eyes darkened slightly, mouth parting as he lowered himself slightly, hips dragging along Peter’s lap briefly before lifting away again.

“Peter,” Jamie repeated, and Peter moaned, grabbing at a couple of throw pillows in an effort to resist touching Jamie. “Peter.” The man practically purred his name and Peter’s hips bucked without his permission, pressing his hard cock up against the fork of Jamie’s legs. “Oh, God,” he gasped, pushing down against Peter apparently without thinking about it, quickly reigning himself back in and lifting away from Peter again. Peter groaned in disappointment and threw his head back, heaving for breath as he fought to keep control of himself. He’d had lap dances before, slept with many people before, and he’d never, ever felt his self-control so close to breaking.

“God,” Jamie muttered, pulling back a little to watch him. “Fuck. If that’s not the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, I don’t know what is, and I work in a Goddamn strip club.” Peter let out a startled laugh, and Jamie giggled, the sound breaking off into a snort that made Peter look up. Jamie froze and quickly clapped a hand over his mouth, blushing, but Peter quickly shook his head, reaching up to tug the man’s hand away from his mouth. Flushing, Jamie slowly resumed moving, biting his lip as he rolled his hips just above Peter’s lap, a shy look starting to creep over him that made Peter whimper helplessly, hands fluttering along Jamie’s body, desperate to touch, wary of pushing too far.

“P-pull the zipper in the back down for me?” Jamie mumbled, leaning close to speak into Peter’s ear, lips brushing lightly over his skin. Peter nodded and reached behind Jamie to trace his fingers over the back of his top until he found the zipper. Carefully drawing it down, Peter watched as Jamie pulled back to let it slip off his arms and then toss it aside, upper body bare to Peter.

He had more freckles on his chest under sparse body hair, and Peter wanted to trace them with his tongue, wanted to press kisses to his sternum and over his heart, lick at his nipples and suck them into his mouth, wanted to kiss and touch every inch of Jamie’s body until he was begging for more with no sense of shame.

Instead Peter sat back and let Jamie continue to undulate in his lap, hips dipping down every once in a while to brush over Peter’s straining erection and make him moan. Peter’s resolve broke a couple times, fingers brushing over Jamie’s thigh or hip or ribs until the man smacked his hand away with a playful grin. Peter groaned in disappointment each time, watching Jaime eagerly.

And then a buzz of an alarm sounded from Jamie’s coat, making them both look up.

“Oh,” Jamie huffed, slipping out of Peter’s lap to pull his phone out of his pocket. “Four hours are up. I’m off the clock.” He plucked the coat up and shrugged it on, and Peter wondered how much it was going to suck to go home alone and toss off after all that. He probably wouldn’t even last five seconds, and he knew he was going to be very disappointed about the lack of Jamie in his bed.

“So, Peter,” Jamie walked closer, buttoning his coat in a couple places so that it still showed flashes of his legs and chest as he moved. “My name is Miggs Ortega. And if you give me a ride home after the strangest not-date I’ve ever had, you might get a goodnight kiss.” He smirked when Peter stared up at him, blinking as he quickly absorbed that information. Peter nodded, pushing himself to his feet so he could fetch his phone from where it was sitting on the stage, shoving it into his pocket before turning to look at Jamie—no, Miggs—who was shoving his bare feet back into his shoes.

Peter followed Miggs back out of the private room into the main club which was still just as packed as it’d been a couple hours ago, though a different bouncer was manning the curtain, and then back up to the front desk, where Michelle eyed them suspiciously. Peter waited while Miggs clocked out and collected his pay, tucking it into the pocket of his coat before following Peter back out into the parking lot.

“So you’re giving me that ride home?” Miggs asked as Peter pulled out his helmet and offered Miggs the spare. Peter nodded, eyes darting down to Miggs’ lips and causing a flush to appear on the man’s face. “Okay. Here, lemme…” He pulled up a map on his phone to show Peter his apartment building, and Peter memorized the route and address so he could drive them there.

Miggs clung tight to Peter’s back as he pulled out of the lot, and before he’d gotten more than a block he was slowly rocking his hips against Peter again. Peter groaned and hoped he’d remain clear-headed enough to get them both to Miggs’ apartment alive.

“D’you want me to stop?” Miggs said into Peter’s ear, hardly audible over the rumble of the motorcycle when they paused at a light. Peter shook his head and Miggs started rolling his hips more firmly, whimpering at each press of his cock against Peter’s body. “God, I want you.” Peter shuddered as he started the bike moving forward again, hard as a rock in his pants and wishing Miggs would touch him again, while at the same time hoping he wouldn’t. He was pretty sure he’d crash if Miggs made him orgasm while driving.

“Peter,” Miggs groaned into the back of his neck as he roared onto the freeway again, fingers tight around the handlebars as he tried to keep his head. “Peter, oh God, Peter.” Peter bit his lip, trembling with desire and blinking his eyes rapidly to keep his focus on the road and not on the man rutting against his ass like he was going to come any second. Luckily Miggs’ apartment wasn’t too far from the Orchid, and as Peter pulled off the freeway again a few minutes later, it was only a couple more blocks before he was pulling into the parking lot. Peter parked in the first open space he saw, disregarding the number painted between the white lines and shutting down the bike. Miggs whimpered in disappointment and slowly slid off the bike, one hand cupping at his crotch through his coat. Peter groaned at the sight and climbed off the bike, stowing his helmet and taking Miggs’ from him when took it off.

“Do you wanna walk me up?” Miggs asked, jerking his head up towards where his apartment must be, and Peter nodded, following him up the stairs and along the walkway to apartment 39. “Um. Here.” Miggs pulled out his phone and fiddled with it before pushing it at Peter, a new contact window open. “So I can text you.” Peter nodded and quickly punched in his name and number, smirking as he added a tongue emoji to the end of his name. Miggs tucked the phone away when Peter handed it back, blushing as he looked up at him.

“Um, about that kiss,” he began, and Peter tried not to get his hopes up too high, there was always the chance Miggs could change his mind—

Peter let out a sound of surprise when Miggs grabbed the front of his jacket and hauled him closer, rising up onto his toes to mash their mouths together. Peter groaned and clutched at Miggs’ hips, hauling him close and kissing him eagerly. It was good, it was  _ so  _ good, Miggs was soft and eager and practically mewling under his touch, arching into Peter as his hands roamed up Miggs’ back and sides. Miggs parted his lips for Peter’s tongue the instant Peter traced along his lower lip, and Peter moaned, exploring the heat and taste of him and hardly caring for the loud thud they made when Peter pushed Miggs up against his front door, hips bucking forward to grind against him. That was good, too, that was fucking  _ amazing,  _ dragging his cock along Miggs’ hip, his coat parting so Peter could thrust against him, just the thin shorts and Peter’s pants separating them.

“Oh, fuck,” Miggs gasped into Peter’s mouth as Peter started desperately rutting against him, whimpering helplessly as his hands groped at Miggs’ body. “Oh, oh, God, fuck, oh—!” Peter moaned when Miggs started circling his hips back, the friction rough and bordering on painful as Miggs lifted one leg to wrap it around Peter’s waist, pulling him in impossibly closer.

“Oh, Peter, oh, God, fuck—!” Miggs arched and cried out, Peter’s mouth moving to his throat to lick and bite at the skin there, tasting sweat and heat and  _ Miggs,  _ and he was so close, so close—

“Hey, get a fucking room, it’s one in the fucking morning!” a voice shouted from a nearby window, and Peter froze, entire body seizing up with embarrassment.

“Fuck off, Gladys, your fucking dogs were howling at four AM yesterday, you’re lucky I’m not fucking on  _ your  _ door!” Miggs shouted right back, panting even as he pushed Peter back a bit. There was a scandalized noise from whom Peter presumed was Gladys, but he ignored it, trying to get his breathing under control as Miggs fished out his keys to unlock his front door.

Peter cleared his throat and rubbed at the back of his neck, jerking his head towards the stairs and giving Miggs a quizzical look.

“Oh. Uh, if you want, I mean, I was gonna invite you in, but if you don’t—” Miggs stammered and Peter quickly shook his head, stepping closer to Miggs, who flushed and then let them inside.

Miggs’ apartment was cluttered, messy, and full of books and papers, and smelled strongly of coffee and what Peter suspected were burned meals, going by the takeout boxes and blackened bits of food in the half-full kitchen trash.

“Uh, sorry about the mess,” Miggs mumbled, quickly scooping up books and papers off the couch and dumping them on an already full kitchen table. Peter shrugged, instantly liking the lived-in feel of the man’s apartment. Peter’s own place was remarkably barren, considering he’d lived there for almost a year now. “Um, if you want, I’ve got coffee, and I think there might be soda and there’s always water, and—eep.” Miggs squeaked in surprise when Peter came up behind him, hands cupping gently at his hips to turn him around. Peter hesitated, glancing along his body, toying with one of the buttons to his coat but not undoing it.

“Er, um, yeah, sure, I can—I can take it off, if you want,” Miggs stammered, fumbling with the buttons until he could slide the coat off his shoulders and drop it to the floor. He flushed as Peter’s eyes roamed down his body, growling with desire under his breath at the sight of the half-erection pushing out against the tight fabric of his shorts.

“I—I still don’t fuck on the first date,” Miggs whispered, and Peter nodded, leaning in to nuzzle at Miggs’ jaw and kiss at the soft skin behind his ear. “Ohhh- _ oh, _ but I wouldn’t—wouldn’t mind making out some more, if you’d like, um, where we won’t be—y’know. Interrupted by my rude-ass neighbors.” Peter chuckled and nodded, pulling Miggs over to his couch and shrugging out of his jacket before tossing it over the back and sitting down. Miggs sat beside him, fidgeting a little before blurting, “Actually, d’you mind if I go change? It feels…weird. Touching you in my work clothes.” Peter paused, realizing that he had to feel like he was still on the clock, that Peter was still paying him, and he quickly nodded, watching him jump up and vanish through a door into what Peter presumed was his bedroom. With any luck, Peter would find out for sure at some point.

Peter flushed as he realized Miggs had left the door open slightly, probably a habit of living alone, and he ended up crossing Peter’s line of sight several times, quite a few of them naked. He couldn’t see much through the narrow gap in the door, but he saw enough to decide that he  _ very  _ much wanted things to work out.

Miggs came back out in a t-shirt and pajama pants, flushing slightly when Peter looked him over.

“Felt weirder putting on nice clothes, so just…yeah.” He rubbed self-consciously at one arm, and Peter hummed, the sound distinctly pleased, and Miggs bit his lip against a small smile, glancing up at him. Peter beckoned him closer and Miggs practically bounced towards him, landing on the couch next to him again.

Peter ran his eyes over the man, and found he actually liked Miggs better like this, as himself, comfortable in his own home, more than he’d liked Jamie, writhing and clad in skin-tight clothes back in the Orchid. It was a little strange, considering he could see less of Miggs’ skin, his hair was still a little flat from the helmet, and overall, on anyone else, he would have preferred the Jamie version.

But when Peter reached out to carefully pull Miggs into a kiss, the spark of arousal was stronger here, deeper; less desperate, visceral reaction to an attractive body undulating in his lap (not that that hadn’t been nice) and more slow burn, more heat and throb, something that made him groan helplessly at the soft feel of Miggs’ mouth under his.

“Mm, Peter,” Miggs mumbled against his mouth, and Peter hummed, tugging at him until they were sprawled out together, kissing slowly, leisurely, hands roaming everywhere above the waist. Miggs gasped when Peter rubbed a thumb over the peak of his nipple through his shirt, and Peter resolved to find out exactly how sensitive they were at the soonest opportunity.

“Do you mind if I…” Miggs trailed off, fingers toying with the top button of Peter’s shirt. “You’ve seen me almost naked, and I’m…curious.” He smirked, and Peter nodded, arching as Miggs started unbuttoning his shirt, mouth dragging down Peter’s throat to his collarbone, following the part in the fabric. He pushed it open and then off Peter’s shoulders, helping him pull it off and letting it fall to the floor. Miggs sat up, straddling Peter’s hips, gaze raking along Peter’s body. He felt a brief flash of self-consciousness, not something that happened often, but Miggs let out a soft moan and leaned down again, kissing him eagerly as his hands roamed over Peter’s torso, scratching lightly through his body hair.

“Fuck, you’re like—” he cut himself off, blushing, making Peter lift an eyebrow in curiosity. “You’re fucking perfect, Jesus, I want—” Peter flushed and reached up to cup Miggs’ hips, fingers tracing over the waistband of his pants. Miggs whined softly and arched into Peter, leaning down to kiss at his throat. “I want you to fuck me. But….but I want to see you again.” Peter paused, giving Miggs a curious look when the man pulled back to glance at his face. Blushing, Miggs swallowed and mumbled, “If we fuck now, you might not answer when I text you tomorrow. I’m not….I don’t want to just be a one-night stand.” Peter hummed and shook his head, stroking at Miggs’ sides. He just bit his lip and looked away. Peter blew out a breath and squirmed until he managed to get into his pocket, tugging out his phone and typing out a message one-handed.

**_If u don’t want to have sex, then we won’t. If u do, we will. And I’ll definitely text back tomorrow. Trust me._ **

He nudged the phone under Miggs’ face until he read it, and Miggs shoved the phone to the floor, leaning in to kiss Peter, licking into his mouth before pulling back, panting.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I do, okay, can we—the lube’s in my bedroom.” Peter’s eyes widened and he nodded, mouth falling a little slack. He hadn’t expected Miggs to go for it, let alone to want to do anything that would require lube. Mutual orgasms after some dry humping, sure, but— “Come on, I want you.” Peter scrambled to follow Miggs into his bedroom, letting out a weak whimper as Miggs shed all his clothes, climbing naked onto the bed before turning to face him. He was blushing furiously but looked determined, holding a hand out to Peter.

“I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this,” he mumbled as Peter hurriedly stripped down. Miggs blushed as Peter dropped his pants. “Uh, never mind, yes I can.” Peter flashed a grin and climbed into the bed with him, hesitating as he covered Miggs’ body with his own. Peter kissed him slowly, trying not to move too fast or in a way Miggs wasn’t ready for.

“Uh, um, glasses?” Miggs murmured, reaching up to touch the frames on Peter’s face. He instinctively ducked away and Miggs stared. Peter hesitated, glancing around the bedroom. It was dark, lit only by the light coming through the half-open door, and after a second he pulled the glasses off and set them on the nightstand closest to the door. Miggs stared up at him, and Peter flushed, feeling naked in a way that had little to do with clothing.

“Your eyes are  _ really  _ blue,” Miggs mumbled, reaching up to cup Peter’s jaw and pull him down into another kiss. Peter melted against him, groaning at the feel of the man’s naked body against his own, warm and soft and  _ responsive,  _ every touch of Peter’s mouth or hands making him arch and whimper and moan. Peter never wanted to stop touching him.

“Ohh, fuck,” Miggs groaned as Peter dragged his mouth down his throat, quickly fulfilling his fantasy of playing connect the dot with the man’s freckles across his chest. 

Miggs moaned when Peter traced the tip of his tongue around his nipple until it peaked, sucking gently at it before nipping with his teeth. Miggs gasped and arched into it, so Peter growled and sucked harder, stroking his hands down Miggs’ sides as he bit down almost hard enough to hurt.

“Oh, God!” Miggs’ hips jumped and his cock brushed against Peter’s stomach, and Peter moaned at the wet smear of precome over his skin. “Peter, oh God, Peter!” Peter hummed, pleased, and switched his attention to Miggs’ other nipple, pushing the man into panting for breath, broken half-pleas slipping from his lips every so often. Peter reached down with one hand, palm ghosting over Miggs’ stomach and cock, brushing along the inside of his thigh before skimming back down to behind his balls, fingers brushing over his perineum. Miggs jumped, and Peter paused, glancing up at him.

“Um, uh, lube’s—” Miggs waved a hand at the nightstand opposite where Peter had put his glasses, and Peter hummed, leaning up to kiss Miggs again as he pulled open the drawer and felt around until he found the bottle of lube. Peter slid back down Miggs’ body, dropping the lube down by his knee as he kissed at Miggs’ stomach, making him squirm. Miggs cried out when Peter flicked his tongue over the head of his cock. He wanted to suck him into his mouth, but he had the feeling they were both barely going to last as it was, and he didn’t want Miggs coming until Peter was inside him and could feel it happen.

Miggs whimpered as Peter slipped his hands behind his knees and pushed his legs up and open, and he blushed as Peter let out a growl.

“Oh, um, uh, God,” Miggs stammered, covering his face with his hands as Peter leaned down to kiss along the inside of his thigh, eyes on Miggs’ face. “Fuck, oh, God, that’s intense, um.” Peter grinned wickedly and nipped at Miggs’ thigh, sucking a small bruise near the crease of his hip and making him whimper.  “Oh, fuck, are you going to _ ooo _ —” Miggs’ voice rose up into a surprised cry as Peter licked at his perineum and then down to his hole. Miggs’ hips jumped and Peter’s grip on his thighs tightened to hold him still, tracing his tongue over his entrance, smirking as Miggs twitched and squirmed, blushing and covering his face.

“Ohh, oh God, oh my God—” he babbled, arching and twisting as Peter flicked his tongue over him lightly, watching him squirm with a hot twist of pleasure low in his stomach. Peter paused in his attention to test a theory and Miggs let out a broken sound. “Fuck, don’t  _ stop! _ ” he sobbed, and Peter grinned, quickly resuming licking at him, pushing on the backs of his thighs until Peter could pull him into his lap. He wrapped his arms around Miggs’ waist, holding him steady as he licked and sucked at him, Miggs’ legs twitching and tensing before hooking over his shoulders. Peter hummed and gently pushed his tongue into the heat of Miggs’ body, earning a strangled, desperate sound from the man.

“Ohhhh, God, oh fuck!” Miggs cried out, quickly reaching out to grab the base of his cock, squeezing desperately. “OH, oh, oh, fuck, stop, you’re gonna—gonna make me come, just—” Peter pulled away, shuddering and biting his lip at the sight of Miggs curled in his lap and sprawled back onto the mattress, flushed and sweating. His hair was darker and clinging to his face, curling more, and Peter wanted to keep him that way for ages. 

After a minute, Miggs let out a breath and nodded, fingers stroking along his cock slowly as Peter lowered him back to the bed, humming. He grabbed the lube and flicked it open, spreading some over his fingers and watching Miggs stoke himself leisurely. Peter rubbed his fingers together to warm the lube as fast as he could before gently reaching down to rub at Miggs’ entrance. He gasped and arched, grip tightening on his cock as Peter touched him, circling for a few moments before carefully pressing one finger inside. Miggs relaxed as Peter carefully pumped just the one finger into his body, panting with desire as Miggs’ legs fell open, panting and touching himself while Peter readied him to take his cock.

“Mm, fuck, more,” Miggs hummed after a minute and Peter quickly obliged, slipping a second finger in. Miggs gasped at the stretch but didn’t wince or recoil, so Peter kept pumping his fingers slowly until Miggs was taking it easily, and then crooked them, rubbing until Miggs cried out.

“Fuck, oh God, are you  _ trying  _ to make me go early?” Miggs gasped, squeezing at his base as Peter smirked and started twisting his wrist, thrusting into him faster and scissoring his fingers. “Oh, fucking hell!” Miggs arched and bit into his lip, and Peter quickly added a third finger, hoping Miggs wouldn’t come before Peter could fuck him. Peter leaned forward to kiss at Miggs’ throat, groping around in the drawer again until he came up with a condom. Sitting back, he ripped it open with his teeth and rolled it on one-handed as he kept working Miggs’ hole with his other hand.

“Please, oh fuck, I can’t—Peter, I’m not gonna last much longer,  _ please  _ fuck me, please,” Miggs begged and Peter growled, carefully pulling his fingers free and covering Miggs’ body with his own. Miggs whimpered and clung to him, kissing at his throat and jaw and up to the corner of his mouth before Peter turned his head to kiss him, moaning as he carefully guided himself to Miggs’ hole and started gently pushing inside.

“Oh, fuck,” Miggs gasped, head dropping back as Peter slipped into him sliding to the base and letting out a low groan. “Please, please, oh God please!” Peter groaned and rolled his hips, trying to go slow, be gentle, he had no idea how long it’d been since Miggs had last been fucked, if ever— “Harder!” Miggs gasped, wrapping his legs around Peter’s waist and digging his heels into him. “Please!”

Well. Peter could hardly argue with that.

Peter braced his elbows to either side of Miggs so he wouldn’t crush him, leaning down to kiss and bite at his throat, leaving a trail of hickies as he started thrusting his hips forward, driving into Miggs’ body. Miggs cried out every time Peter bottomed out, arching and tilting his hips, mouth falling open in pleasure as Peter fucked him. Peter moaned and watched in fascination as the man beneath him gasped and called out his name, for more, there,  _ harder _ , and Peter did his best to please, and soon the bed was rocking into the wall (probably annoying the shit out of Gladys, if Peter was correct in guessing how the apartments were laid out).

Peter struggled not to come too quickly, he wanted to feel Miggs coming around his cock, feel him—

“Fuck!” Miggs cried out, back bowing as his entire body tensed. “Peter!” he gasped, and then he was coming, hot streaks striping over his stomach and chest, a droplet hitting the underside of Peter’s chin. He barely noticed, shuddering as Miggs’ body tightened around his cock, and his hips stuttered in their rhythm as he tipped over the edge into orgasm. Miggs trembled underneath him as Peter moaned, hauling him close and grinding against him as he came so hard stars burst behind his closed eyelids.

It took Peter a second to get his breath back, and once he did he carefully pulled out of Miggs, making sure to pinch the condom so it didn’t slip off. Miggs groaned softly and went limp against the mattress as Peter tugged the condom off and tied it shut, tossing it into a bin he was pretty sure was for trash over by the closet. Peter laid out flat by Miggs, letting out a long, slow breath.

“Mmm.” Miggs rolled and curled up against his side, and Peter wrapped an arm around him, a funny sort of feeling swelling in his chest. “You’ll…be here in the morning, right?” Peter nodded, pulling Miggs closer and nuzzling at his wild, sweat-damp hair.

“Good,” Miggs mumbled, kicking at the blankets until he managed to get under them and throw them over Peter as well.

And he was, and he woke up to coffee and bacon and had to explain to Miggs that he was vegetarian, causing the man to nearly trip over himself trying to apologize and explain that he didn’t really have any real food in his house, so they ended up going out for breakfast after Miggs ate all the bacon and they both drank half a pot of coffee.

Peter remembered to send Myra an e-card, though it was a  _ thank you  _ one instead of an  _ I’m sorry  _ one, and got nothing but question marks and angry-faced emojis in return. 

**Author's Note:**

> pls lmk if i missed any [brackets] or mistakes while editing! <3 thanks for reading ur a peach ;*


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